Work in Progress

Sherlock was released from hospital six days after everything with Smith had occurred, the doctors deeming him to be on the mend, slowly, but surely. The damage to his kidneys, thankfully, was found to be not quite as serve as originally feared and within a few days of treatment, his kidney function began to show improvement. The detox had been quite rough this time around, but he had gotten through the worst of it, though he refused to accept the doctors and nurses encouragement to seek further treatment outside of hospital, so instead John had arranged for them to all do their part and keep an eye on Sherlock for the foreseeable future, taking turns, work and childcare permitting for Molly and John, even Mycroft had offered to keep an eye on Sherlock for an hour or two...something that Amelia had very quickly shot down, reminding the elder Holmes that they were trying to get Sherlock's sobriety back on track, not send him spiralling off the rails again.

And so Sherlock was back at Baker Street, though Amelia hadn't moved back in, even though it likely would have been more convenient for everyone that she did, given that she didn't have a job that she had to attend for eight hours a day or a child to have to find care for, but she just...couldn't. Baker Street was still her home, she still viewed it as such, but she couldn't bring herself to move back in, couldn't bring herself to drag her bags back into the house, to even sleep in the spare bed upstairs in John's old room. She kept an eye on Sherlock for three hours in the morning and then another three hours in the evening, but it was Mrs Hudson who was keeping a close eye on him during the night time hours...Amelia did feel rather guilty for that, but the land lady seemed just so thrilled to have Sherlock back and on the mend, she hadn't once complained, and Amelia tried making up for it by doing all her shopping and doing her laundry during the day time hours that Mrs Hudson was sleeping.

She still felt the question of if and when she would move back in hanging in the air, sensed Mrs Hudson's hopeful gaze, felt Molly's unspoken questions in the air between them when Amelia left Sherlock to her watchful care, she even felt it from Sherlock. His eyes watching her, always watching her, lingering on her whenever she would step into the flat and greet him, or when she would prepare to leave, but he never once asked or brought up the subject, never once questioned anything relating to their relationship, and perhaps he had grown better at picking up social cues, because he never once attempted anything more than friendly interactions with her...but she still felt his gaze on her when she wasn't looking. It was unsettling, but she ignored it, just as she pretended as if she wasn't hiding a secret from him.

She wasn't sure if he had deduced anything about her pregnancy, he made no mention of it, no hint that he knew, and she couldn't bring herself to speak about it, either. Instead, she started being more careful about her clothing choices, picking flowing blouses or dresses, things that covered over her stomach area, just in case. She made sure that she always bought a cup of de-cafe coffee with her before she arrived and a proper coffee for him, played off any morning sickness she might feel in the evenings with tiredness and stress from a case she was working on. It had only been three days since Sherlock had been out of hospital and this little arrangement between them all had started, but Amelia was already growing tired of it all, but she couldn't bring herself to just come clean and tell him. She just...couldn't.

As for Smith...well, that was far more satisfying, Amelia had to admit. Apparently, he was more than happy to start talking, once Lestrade got him in an interview room of Scotland Yard...he wouldn't shut up, happily talking away for hours, so long that poor Lestrade looked as if he had aged twenty years when Amelia had seen him the day after Smith's arrest. The vile man kept going on about being famous, how he would go down in history as one of the world's worst serial killer, seemingly delighting in sharing every single gory, disgusting detail about his killings, recalling each death with such accurate detail, Lestrade apparently hardly needed to do anything more than just check out the names and dates of the supposed details to confirm that they had, indeed, died. Amelia was relieved, if very disgusted by it all and after that conversation went home and took a very long, hot shower. She didn't know how Lestrade was stomaching it all, but she was bloody grateful she wouldn't be in the jury for that case.

Of course, the media and papers were loving it. She shook her head slowly in disgust as she looked over the paper from this morning on her kitchen counter top, Smith's smug face splashed across the front page, beneath the massive headline 'Modern Day H.H Holmes!' She thinned her bright pink painted lips in disgust, red fingernails tapping on the marble bench surface, while mid-day sun shine shone through the French double doors and clear, large sunlight at the end of the kitchen. She had left Sherlock in John's care an hour and a half ago, and happily returned home, just in time to cook some lunch and have a de-cafe tea. It wasn't the same as the real stuff, but she was gradually getting used to it.

She hoped Sherlock and John would finally talk, she had gently poked and prodded them both over the past few days to speak, but thus far, from what she could tell, they largely just talked about trivial nonsense or watched TV in silence, all of which sounding perfectly awful and painful to endure. She would have another go at Sherlock this afternoon, she decided. It was his birthday today and even though she had already given him his gift, a framed box with different bee species pinned inside it, she had convinced him to let her and Molly take him out for afternoon tea and cake. She wished she could have done more for his birthday, she normally would have, but given how odd their relationship was currently...well, she thought it wiser to keep it simple. It wouldn't stop her from still trying to prod him into speaking to John and getting their friendship back on track.

Her doorbell suddenly rang and her head snapped up in surprise, the small gold hoop earrings in her ears swinging as she shot the clock a glance. She wasn't expecting any clients today and her social circle were either busy minding Sherlock, sleeping for their nightly duty of watching him, or working, which rather limited who would bother to call upon her at twelve thirty on a Wednesday. She slipped off her green velvet padded barstool and subconsciously brushed her red dress down over bare legs. It was bright red and fitted to her waist, were it flared, her hips draped by decorative fabric that had three metal buttons stitched artfully onto the fabric, aiding in being a tiny bit more figure concealing. She had left her two toned, red and pink heels by the bottom of the stairs this morning, and she quickly stepped into them. The door gave another two rings and she rolled her eyes, pushing off from the wall she had been leaning against to hurry across the marble tiled flooring to the door. A brief glance at the security monitor by the door made her blink.

John stood on her doorstep, peering up at the camera, while Sherlock stood just a step behind him, looking still a little on the scruffy side with a touch of facial hair still running over his cheeks, chin, and jaw line, while his hair was nice and clean, though his curls remained slightly lank. She stared at the screen, just as John gave the bell another ring and shook herself from her shock, turning away from the screen to grab the door handle and pulling it open. Both men looked at her as she lifted a curious eyebrow, regarding them carefully, before her lips slowly rose and a teasing glint filled her gaze.

"My, my," she smirked very slightly, and moved to lean casually against the doorframe, pretending to mock look them up and down flirtatiously, "Who knew that door-to-door sells men were so attractive? Do tell me more, gentlemen".

Sherlock rolled his eyes, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, though Amelia could see the slight hint of amusement in his still slightly bruised features as his eyes roamed over her. John actually snorted slightly and shook his head, giving her a flat look.

"How many doors-to-doors people would try selling in Belgravia Square?" he questioned.

She pretended to consider it, her eyes drifting away thoughtfully, "Good point," she turned her gaze back to them, and sighed very slightly, "What a shame. I was rather looking forward to frivolously throwing my money at something; it's been twelve hours since I last went shopping".

"Can't help you there, Amelia," he said dryly.

"Well..." she shrugged, lightly tapping her fingers against the edge of her doorframe "If you're not here to sell me anything, then what are you here for, gentlemen?" she lifted an eyebrow, peering at John and then Sherlock, eyes narrowing suspiciously, "Unless you're here to try and sell me something else?"

John glanced sideways at Sherlock, who was curiously very silent, and then cleared his throat and stepped forward. Amelia lifted an eyebrow, but didn't fight it when he reached for her arm and lightly pushed her back into the foyer of her house, stepping in after her, his back to the door. She let him guide her practically to the end of the room, while Sherlock remained on the doorstep, pretending not to be watching them. John kept his back to him and sighed.

"Amelia..." he began, his voice low, low enough that she had to tilt her head slightly in his direction, frowning at him slightly, "It's time".

She knew exactly what he meant, her pulse even picked up slightly and her expression instantly grew weary, eyeing him carefully as she leaned slightly back from him. He dropped his hand from her arm, but made little move to step back from her, his gaze steady and firmly set on her face, almost peering into her very mind. Her eyes, unintentionally shifted off him and over his shoulder to Sherlock, still standing in the entrance of her home, and their eyes made contact. She quickly looked away from him, frowning.

"You two had a nice chat finally, then?" she fixed John with a searching look.

"Yeah," he nodded, voice still low, eyes still fixed intently on her, "We did".

"And?"

John did shift back from her very slightly, though it was more out of discomfort than anything else, and his brow creased and he briefly pulled his bottom lip over his teeth, his eyes shifting onto the floor, and then back up to her again. He released a small sigh through his nose and nodded slowly.

"We're...in a better place," he told her quietly, and she gave him a pointed look, almost as if to say, 'Seriously? That's all I'm getting?' He smiled very slightly and shook his head fondly, "What do you want to know, Amelia? There were tears, there was hugging, and..." he took a deep breath, "I told him that he didn't kill Mary".

Amelia's eyebrows rose sharply, "I see," she said slowly, her expression growing concerned, her gaze intently running over his face, "And...did it help? Do you feel better?"

"A little bit," he admitted, his expression growing a touch saddened.

She nodded, giving him a grim, tight smile and reaching out to take his hand, squeezing it, "I'm relieved to hear it, John," she said softly, peering into his face, "Truly".

"I also told him about the affair".

That did cause her to blink slightly and her lips parted in surprise, not having excepted that to come from John's mouth. Truth be told, she had almost forgotten about John's little texting relationship with the woman he'd meet on the bus months back, it had seemed like such a trivial thing after everything had happened, and she hadn't expected that John would feel any need to speak of it ever again, for his own shame and guilt. She had intended to keep it that way, the secret they shared, for John's sake, because with Mary gone there was no reason for it to be discussed any longer.

"John..." she frowned very faintly, "It wasn't exactly an affair. Yes, it was wrong and I still believe you should have told Mary from the start, but there's no changing it now..."

"Amelia," John interrupted her firmly, his voice easily cutting through her own and her words died on her tongue, very slightly startled to see the serious look on his face, "Talk to Sherlock," he urged her, seemingly trying to change the subject. He even grabbed for her other hand and, holding both of her hands in his, squeezed them comfortingly, looking directly into her eyes, "If you love him, talk to him".

"Of course I love him, but it's..."

"No, Amelia, talk to him," he squeezed her hands slightly tighter, giving her a near pleading look, and again she was struck silent by shock, "No matter how bloody complicated it might be, how hard, you've got to try, because I'll tell you what I told him, Amelia: You're never going to be in love with anyone else like you are with him. He's it, Amelia, and you know it".

She frowned deeply at him and felt the sudden urge to pull her hands free from him, feeling almost as if she had been cornered. She felt her pulse pick up and a wave of fear and anxiety wash over her, her eyes darting quickly over to Sherlock, who hastily looked away when he noticed her looking. She licked her lips and tasted her lipstick, felt her palms starting to sweat...God, she knew that she had to talk to Sherlock, she had so much that needed to be said, but she was terrified of doing it. She was scared of how he would react to the news that she was pregnant, frightened of their relationship never being the same, which was utterly illogical considering that there was already no coming back from what had happened. Everything would be different now, even if they got back together today, it would be different...and she hated that, because at least right now she could pretend that things were somewhat as they once were. She was fooling herself, of course. It was all just a pretence and she just a coward.

"John," she shook her head, looking back to him, her voice barely above a whisper, "I don't..."

"Just do it, Amelia," he insisted, but his expression had softened and his eyes were gentle. He gave her a small, encouraging smile, "While you still can, because trust me...you don't want to have to live with regret because you weren't brave enough to be open with the person you love. And..." he paused, his eyes briefly shifting away from her, looking somewhere over her shoulder, before he shrugged lightly, "He's an idiot and doesn't have any bloody clue when it comes to romance or women, but do you know what?"

She sighed slightly, wary, "What?"

"He was the one who asked me what he should do to get you back, Amelia. Sherlock Holmes, the man who would rather poke his own eye out with a spoon, asked me for romance advice. That says everything".

Normally, Amelia might have laughed at that, because it was very true. Sherlock was not the type to ask for help from anyone, it almost physically pained him to have to admit that he might not know something, and to go to John and ask him for relationship advice? God, she wished she had been there to hear it herself, and as touching as it was, it still just wasn't good enough.

"It's more complicated the just forgiving and forgetting, John," she murmured, shaking her head and frowning deeply, feeling the sudden urge to reach up and grab at her hair, wanting to pull it in frustration.

"You don't have to," he said instantly, giving her another encouraging, hopeful look, "Do what you need to do, make him work for you, make him earn your forgiveness, whatever it takes, but this is Sherlock. You're going to have to spell it out for him".

"I don't know if I ever can, John, not...after this".

He was silent for a long moment, before he sighed and nodded, his expression growing grim, "Just try," he said gently, but firmly, his lips lifting in a very slightly teasing smile, "You know I've always been team Amlock".

A surprised laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, it was the first laugh she had had in such a long time, too, the first proper laugh. She wouldn't have expected John to even know what the hell shipping names were, he wasn't exactly up to date with the internet in that regard, though he had evidently paid more attention then she thought. She would have to quiz him on it later and find out how the hell he had learnt about that, though something told her it might have come from Mary, more than John. She hoped it had, actually, she could just picture Mary and John chatting with each other over dinner or while doing some other domestic task, talking about their friends, Mary making some throw away remark like 'Amloch' and then explaining it to John. It made her hopeful, because if John was able to talk about little comments like that, it meant that he truly was on the road to healing from his grief and slowly getting to a happier, more accepting place.

"Oh, God," she giggled, and pulled her hands free from his, only to throw her arms around his neck in a tight hug. He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but slowly brought his arms up and around her, hugging her back. She smiled and her eyes landed on Sherlock, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway, watching with obvious curiosity, but there was a slight lift to his lips. She sighed and closed her eyes, "Alright, John," she whispered, turning her head very slightly towards his left ear, "I'll talk to him".

John pulled back from the hug and she let him go, arms dropping back down to her side, and he gave her a proud smile and she returned it, a little tiredly. He turned on his heel to walk back over to Sherlock and she hesitated, taking a deep, bracing breathe, before following.

"You're not busy this afternoon, are you, Amelia?" John asked her over his shoulder as he came to a stop next to Sherlock, turning to look at her. She lifted an eyebrow at him questioningly and he smiled a little apologetically, "It's just...eh, I might have phoned Molly and told her you were keeping an eye on Sherlock until two..."

Amelia blinked and turned to Sherlock, "You told him it was your birthday?" she asked in surprise, startled, again. It was becoming a far to frequent occurrence today.

"He deduced it," Sherlock replied with a slightly reluctant sigh, sparing John an exasperated glance, his eyes narrowing very slightly.

"How?" she shook her head in bafflement, rounding back on John with a curious stare. She hadn't learnt what date Sherlock was born on for the longest time, it was his mother who ended up telling her when she phoned Sherlock to wish him a happy birthday and Amelia had happened to pick it up, since Sherlock had his hands full at the time. She still hadn't forgiven him for keeping it a secret from her, so how the hell had John figured it out?

John smiled oddly, it was an uncomfortable, tight sort of smile and his eyes darted quickly over to Sherlock, who was giving him a very heavy frown. Amelia looked suspiciously between them.

"Adler texted me," Sherlock suddenly said, causing John and Amelia to both turn to fix him with stares, John looking utterly shocked and rather alarmed, throwing Amelia a slightly anxious look. Sherlock sighed and kept his gaze steadily fixed on Amelia.

Amelia blinked slowly, nodding as she processed that information...

"It's not what you think, Amelia," John cut in hastily, still looking rather wide eyed and alarmed, giving her a look as if he half-expected her to explode.

She frowned and sighed, "Calm down, John," she rolled her eyes slightly, crossing her arms across her chest as she gave the doctor a flat look, "I'm perfectly well aware of Adler's habit of texting Sherlock a little 'Happy Birthday' message. She only does it every year and, besides, it's entirely one-sided".

"I told you Amelia was well aware, John," Sherlock said lightly, turning his steady gaze onto John, his eyes softening very slightly, "People text, John, texting can just be texting".

John shifted uncomfortably and looked away, and Amelia felt rather bad for him. He looked rather ashamed and embarrassed, and clearly still didn't agree with Sherlock, but she suspected they may have already discussed this, judging by the lack of response from John. Eventually, he cleared his throat and looked back up to Amelia, giving her a tight smile.

"I've got to pick up Rosie," he said, seemingly trying to move passed the odd moment, "But...I thought I might bring her to the cake thing this afternoon..." he hesitated, looking at her and then Sherlock, almost looking uncertain.

"I'd love that, John," Amelia said instantly, smiling happily, her eyes lighting up.

"Great," his smile was relaxed and calm, and he gave her a bright grin in return. He seemed to awkwardly linger, briefly swinging his arms at his sides, his eyes shifting between Amelia and Sherlock, "Well, I'll just...get going".

"Yes, you probably should," Sherlock agreed with a rather impatient, exasperated stare fixed pointedly on the other man.

Amelia's eyebrows rose very slightly, her gaze briefly stilling on Sherlock, but he kept his eyes firmly away from her and fixed on John, who gave a very slightly knowing smirk and nodded. He reached out to Amelia, then, and patted her arm in an almost brotherly, encouraging sort of manner, his eyes gentle and reassuring as she looked at him, catching his gaze. He smiled.

"See you later," he told her, before heading for the door. He lightly did the same encouraging, affectionate pat to Sherlock's arm as he stepped around him, Sherlock turning to watch him go as John grasped the door handle and slipped outside, shutting it behind him.

And then there was two. Amelia felt the air shift and grow tenser, filled with apprehension and constricted with something else she couldn't quite place. Her stomach rolled and it had nothing to do with morning sickness as Sherlock slowly turned back around to face her, his gaze steady and calm, but slightly wary as his eyes landed on her, one eye still badly bruised around it and horribly bloodshot from having been punched. Amelia briefly flexed her hands at her sides, curling her hands into fists, before she took a deep breath and released it.

"Come into the living room, Holmes," she told him with a slightly awkward smile, nodding her head over towards the double doors that opened up into the main living room of the house...it was the same one that she used for her clients, but it was also the closest room and far more comfortable to talk in then the kitchen.

Sherlock immediately moved to follow her over to the doors and she grabbed the handles, sliding one half of the white, wooden door open and stepped inside the large space within. She instantly crossed the room to take a seat on the velvet green couch that sat facing the fireplace, typically reserved for her clients, while she normally would have gone to sit in the matching armchair that sat closest to the large marble fireplace, sitting angled so it was facing the sofa, while a glass waterfall coffee table sat on the fluffy white rug in the middle of the floor. She noticed Sherlock's eyes instantly scanning the room, taking it all in, and smiled very slightly as she watched him slowly and almost automatically, make his way over towards the fireplace. It was the same one that Adler had hidden her phone in within a safe, but the safe had since been relocated within the house and instead a large, art deco style mirror sat over the mantelpiece, empty save for a large crystal vase full of fresh red roses.

"The safe's gone," she remarked as he came to stand before the mirror, peering up at it, though she knew he wasn't merely admiring his own reflection, "I had it moved elsewhere..." she smirked very slightly, "Perhaps if you're nice I'll even tell you where".

"I imagine you also did away with the pistol it contained?" he lifted an eyebrow in the mirror, his eyes shifting off to the side, were her own reflection could just be seen in the bottom corner.

"Of course. My cause of death is not going to be listed as gunshot to the head while searching for diamond earrings, Holmes".

His lips lifted and he turned around to face her properly, eyes glittering with amusement, "No," he agreed lightly, "It's far more likely to be listed as fell down the stairs and broke neck while attempting to run in Louboutins".

She laughed very slightly and shook her head, glancing down as she absently smoothed her skirt over her crossed legs, "Do you think other people joke about how they're going to die, Sherlock?" she mused curiously.

"I doubt it. People are terribly dull".

"No one could ever accuse us of being dull, Holmes".

His eyes met hers, flashing with something warm and bright and affectionate, "Thank God for that," he said lightly, quietly.

For some reason the look in his eyes made Amelia pause, her breathe catching very slightly in her throat and her heart rate jumped, a thrum of warmth and pleasure and peace washing over her, before it froze and turned into ash. She lowered her eyes from him, a small frown marking between her eyes as she swallowed down the sinking feeling of disappointment that swiftly began to take over the previously lovely feeling. God, she had longed to see Sherlock look at her like that again, the look only she got to see in private, when it was just them and he allowed his mask to drop, the mask only she got to truly see behind. The tender, loving, gentle, sweet man beneath it shining through and gifting her with the rare trust and insight of the real Sherlock Holmes. She had missed it so much, seeing that side of him, but right now it felt almost painful to see it, knowing that there was still such a massive divide between them. It was like a horrible bittersweet reminder of what they had once shared.

"Sherlock…" she said slowly, mouth dry and she uncomfortably licked her lips, trying to steady herself, brace herself for what she knew needed to be spoken of. She forced herself to lift her head, looking back up to him, his gaze unwavering and sharply devoted entirely onto her as he stood with his back to the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, a flicker of something warm and gentle still in those light blue eyes of his. She wished he would look away, but it likely would make little difference. She pushed on, briefly closing her eyes, "Sherlock, there's something I need to tell you…something I should have told you, but there was never a good time the past few weeks and I wasn't sure how you would…"

"Amelia, I know".

She trailed off slowly, frowning very slightly in confusion as she looked back into his face, her lips parting very slightly in bafflement. He was still gazing at her calmly, still looking at her with that curiously open expression, eyes and voice gentle, and soft, almost as if he was purposely trying to stop her from getting worked up, which was only mildly successful, though not from his lack of trying, she had to admit. She stared at him blankly for a moment.

"Excuse me?" she shook her head very slightly, watching him closely, "What do you think you know, Sherlock?"

His lip twitched very slightly and a flicker of amusement crossed his eyes, before it was gone. He calmly slipped his clasped hands free and back down by his sides, every move, she noted, carefully measured and done in such a way that she knew he was doing it entirely so that he wouldn't spook her, as if she would be so easily spooked or could be by him. She watched him still, even as he moved around the edge of her coffee table and came to perch himself on the edge of her couch just a seat down from her, turning his body so that he faced her, his right knee brushing against her own bare one, his gaze on her the entire time. It occurred to her, then, that he seemed to be trying very hard to make sure that she could read his intention in his body language, and once again she wondered why? She was far from scared of him; she had never felt scared of him or what he could do to her, not even in his most drug addled state.

"Amelia," he said again, his tone firmer and pointed, looking into her face, "I know…about the pregnancy," her eyes widened slightly in shock and she leaned back from him sharply, which only seemed to make his lips quirk up very slightly, another flicker of amusement crossing his features. He almost mockingly raised an eyebrow at her in return, "Really, Amelia?" he drawled, his gaze purposely flickering over her, while she could only gap slightly at him, "I notice everything about you, from the fact that you changed your brand of shampoo last week to the fact that you stopped wearing your favourite perfume four weeks ago, likely because it was making your morning sickness worse," he gave her a flat look, but there was a hint of gentleness around the corners of his eyes, "Did you really think I wouldn't notice when you were pregnant with my child?"

Damn him…why did he have to be so bloody good at this? It wasn't far, if she had simply fallen for any old idiot banker or lawyer, she wouldn't have had to deal with the fact that she was attached to a bloke that knew far too much about her then she would like to admit, and she in return, for that matter. She was used to being the mysterious one in the relationship, not having her partner be able to read her like a bloody book. She narrowed her eyes on him, the shock swiftly being replaced by something almost like annoyance, though she wasn't entirely sure why she was annoyed…Oh, right, probably because he had clearly known for ages and hadn't said a damn thing to her, while she had stressed and spent hours staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom trying to think of how to break the news to him. She was going to murder this man and make it look like an accident, she really was.

"How long have you bloody well known, Holmes?" she demanded, glaring hard at him, crossing her arms firmly across her chest. And to think, she'd been so bloody sneaky and clever; to think she had painfully poured over her wardrobe choices for clothing that wouldn't reveal anything.

"Please…" he scoffed very slightly, rolling his eyes at her in amusement, "I've known for ages…"

"How long?" she snapped, almost growling the words.

"I'd say, judging by my own calculations, you would have been at least…four weeks along".

Her eyes widened in slight shock and horror, "You've known since…?" she almost spluttered, shaking her head at him in disbelief, "How? How the hell did you know? I didn't even bloody know and it's my damn body, Sherlock!"

He smirked very slightly and she could have so easily have throttled him for enjoying watching her outrage and disbelief, his eyes full of smugness, "You complained of having a metallic taste a few times," he listed lightly, watching her with glittering eyes, "You were more easily fatigued, you even took an afternoon nap twice in as many days, which is very unlike you, Amelia. You had some mild cramping, even though your period was very light…"

"You've been monitoring my periods?" she huffed angrily; positively glaring daggers at him, which anyone else would have taken as a warning, but Sherlock bloody Holmes clearly didn't.

"I was hardly studying it, Amelia, but when one happens to share close living space with a woman and they happen to be their girlfriend, and they start complaining of feeling off, do you really expect me to just ignore you and you health concerns? I know I'm not very good as expressing my care for you, Amelia, but I do happen to value your health and wellbeing very highly".

Amelia levelled him with a cool, even frown, "Recent events would say otherwise, Holmes," she said lightly, voice laced with something dark and sharply edged.

Sherlock actually flinched very slightly at that, his lips parting and his eyes widening very slightly, a brief look of guilt crossing his features, before he sighed and lowered his eyes from her, his lips briefly tugging into a hard, tight line of regret and frustration. He nodded his head very slightly and glanced up to her, almost warily.

"I suppose I deserved that," he admitted quietly.

"Yes," she replied grimly, "You did," she continued to glare at him darkly, but to his credit Sherlock held it, his own expression still wary and even a touch apprehensive. Eventually, she shook her head and looked away from him, her shoulders slumping heavily, "Alright, so you know," she looked briefly down at her hands in her lap, frowning vaguely to herself, feeling his eyes intently on the side of her face, before she slowly groaned very slightly to herself and forced herself to look back up to him, biting her lip almost nervously, "So…how do you...are you alright?"

"Me?" his eyebrows rose, but otherwise his expression remained smooth and clear of any outward emotion, regarding her closely.

"Yeah. I know that fatherhood isn't something you ever really considered, you once told me you didn't think you'd make for a very good one, but...Sherlock I want to make this clear: I am making the choice to do this".

The moment she had discovered that she was pregnant, she knew her choice. It would be hard, she was fully expecting it, hell, she might even have to give up her work for the next few years, unless she went down the path of hiring someone practically full time, and she was rather uncomfortable of the idea of having someone else basically raising her own kids like that, she'd grown up around far too many kids who had been raised by nannies and that wasn't what she wanted for her kids, she had made that choice a long time ago. But she would put aside her own career for a little while, if need be, because she knew in her heart that this was something she wanted, even if Sherlock wasn't there to support her like she hoped he would be, she knew she could do it on her own perfectly well.

"And I respect your decision, Amelia," Sherlock said quietly, and that mixture of warmth and affection was back in his eyes, but this time there was a flicker of almost pride in there, too.

Amelia nodded slowly, briefly thrown by the look in his eyes and his words, "Right," she said slowly, unable to quite figure out how to respond otherwise, given just how different their relationship was.

"Of course," he went on calmly, his voice light, almost airy, "While I still stand by my belief that I'll make for a poor father, I want to try to...do better," he hesitated very slightly on the last few words, a flicker of a frown crossing his features as her eyebrows shot up sharply in surprise. He cleared his throat and the guarded expression was back in place, "Like always, Amelia, I'm sure that your influence and example will help me in that regard, and I..." he paused, again, looking briefly uncomfortable, "I want to be there. For you...and it".

"Them, you mean," she corrected rather absently, still far to startled by his words to truly have anything else to say.

To his credit, Sherlock only allowed a brief moment of surprise to show, "Twins, of course," he muttered, glancing away from her with a slight shake of his head, "I suppose that was obvious..."

She smiled and ducked her head, amused and pleased that he was taking this whole thing so well, she had been so worried that he'd freak out, but she had been wrong. She supposed, though, that having at least a couple of weeks over her to get used to the idea had to help him get his head around the whole prospect of becoming a father, and shockingly he had evidently considered it seriously.

"That means a lot to me, Holmes," she looked back up to him, meeting his gaze firmly, her smile still lightly gracing her lips and her voice warm, "That you want to be there for me...us..."

She laughed slightly at the idea of saying 'Us' like that, it was the first time she'd kind of said it aloud and it felt strange, but she supposed she ought to get used to it, since the next eighteen years she would be tethered to two other people, until they could go on with their own lives. She cleared her throat and looked seriously back to him, finding him eyeing her with that careful, guarded expression again. She wished she knew what he was thinking right now, the way he was looking at her was almost as if he was measuring her up, carefully considering every flicker of her eye and every breathe she took, filing it all away to evaluate.

"Amelia," Sherlock's voice was soft, then, but firm and certain, his gaze steady and strong as it held her own eyes, "I will always be there for you, no matter what, even if you don't think I am or might not always feel like it, you are and will always be my main priority".

"Sherlock..."

"Come home," he urged her, not blinking, not looking away, "Come back to Baker Street".

Amelia sighed and looked away from him, shaking her head lightly, "I can't," she told him, suddenly feeling so very tired and worn, her shoulders slumping, "I...I just need time to try and think, to just...step back and think about everything," she looked back to him, then, "I feel like I need to sort out what I want right now, Sherlock, I need to figure out what's best for me and...for them, because it isn't just about me anymore. It's not about the next case or crime, it's about what makes me feel safe and protected and...and happy".

"And I don't".

There was no accusation to his tone, there wasn't even a hint of pain or hurt, but it made it somehow even worse to her ears. She felt briefly as if someone had slapped her, so shocked and startled, and horrified, that she could only stare at him, lips parting and her eyes widening, her breath catching in her throat.

"That's..." she swallowed, thickly, voice shaking very slightly, "That's not what I meant".

Sherlock gave her a light smile, though there was no humour to it, "Emotional context might be a struggle for me, Amelia," he said in that sharp, quick voice of his, "But I'm not so blind to not see the pain I put you through, and for that I am sorry..." she went to open her mouth, ready to deny it on instinct alone, but he shook his head, "No, Amelia, I know what I did and you're perfectly right. I placed you in a position that was far from feeling safe or protected or happy, for that matter. You're right to question if I can really give you that peace".

Amelia felt awful, her heart had sunk and she felt ashamed, but she also felt relieved, in a way, that she had said those words and told him, because she knew that she needed to get it off her chest. She hadn't wanted to, because she didn't want to hurt him, and she knew that as strong as he pretended to be, it would have hurt him. Hearing that you didn't make someone feel safe or protected would hurt anyone, but someone you love? And Sherlock did love her, he had so few people that he did love that it had to be almost agonising for him to hear it, but he needed to know what he had done to her. To them. She licked her lips and forced herself to look back up to him, meeting his eyes as steadily as she could manage right now, and slowly she reached out to place a hand on his knee, grateful when he didn't shy away from the touch.

"You're being awfully good about this, Sherlock," she sighed, feeling as if she should hug him, but she knew that it would only send the wrong message. Even touching him like this was more freedom then he allowed anyone else, and she slowly pulled her hand back, looking into his face, "Just...give me time, please. Just time...and I mean it," she fixed him with a suddenly stern glare, eyes narrowing warningly, "There's nothing you can do to try and fix this, like with John, and if you try..."

"I know," he cut across her, rolling his eyes briefly, a flicker of exasperation crossing his features as he gave her a flat look, "I know, Amelia".

"Good," she smiled faintly, amused, even though she possibly shouldn't be.

He smiled lightly back at her and she slowly allowed herself to sink back into the cushions of her couch, returning his smile gently. She expected they would have much more to discuss, but right now she felt that they had covered the main points of it all, she just wanted to move forward.

"Happy birthday, William," she said warmly, and when Sherlock smiled at her, she felt hopeful.

...

"I swear my wife is channelling Satan!"

"Yes, boring!" Sherlock's voiced followed down the stairs of Baker Street, sounding full of annoyance and impatience, "Go away!"

Amelia's eyebrows rose as she paused partway up the stairs, hearing the raised voices of Sherlock's latest failed batch of clients seemingly stomping about the place. She was rather disappointed to have missed out on the chance to sit in on that little interview, it sounded like it would have been quite amusing, though perhaps it was for the best. She could grin openly out here on the stairs and not feel guilty or unprofessional.

"I'm not channelling Satan!" the voice of a middle aged women exclaimed, sounding rather tired and exasperated herself, no doubt having heard it quite often enough at home from her husband.

The door of the living room was flung open and Amelia caught a glimpse of Sherlock standing there with it held open, looking back towards someone in the room, out of view from Amelia, his face screwed up with mocking derision.

"Why not?" Sherlock snapped back at the woman, rolling his eyes, "Given your immediate alternative?"

Amelia couldn't fight back the laugh that did escape her at that remark, not even being able to conceal it as a rather average looking; middle aged man with red cheeks came thundering out of the living room door, followed quickly by a middle aged woman, who looked more tired than anything else. Neither of them seemed to pay her much notice as she quickly stepped up onto the landing and pressed against the wall to let them pass, watching them with an amused grin as they stormed off down the stairs in a huff.

"Amelia," Sherlock said from the doorway, and she turned her head to find him still holding the door open, eyeing her closely, eyes running over her form, assessing her carefully, as he often did these past few weeks.

She smiled at him and pushed herself off the wall, adjusting her handbag back onto her shoulder, feeling rather warm at the knowledge that he was making sure she was okay. It had been two weeks since his birthday and things were good between them, between all of them. The tension had left the air, everything was out in the open, John seemed happier and more free then he had since Mary had died, and Sherlock was fully healed and had even managed to put back on the weight he'd lost during his drug stint, Mrs Hudson had ensured that. Amelia, too, was feeling wonderful, the morning sickness had finally passed completely and while she was more tired than normal, she was surprised by how much she was actually kind of enjoying being pregnant...change in size aside. She couldn't hide her bump anymore and nor was she, since everyone that mattered knew, but she did miss wearing ninety percent of her old wardrobe, since she still had a few dresses that she could fit into without much problem.

Things were feeling better and happier, calmer. She was still working with the boys, even though she and Sherlock had come to the silent agreement of treating one another as simply good friends, she still felt his gaze on her, his concern, his affection. He was trying, he hadn't missed a single appointment and she had even caught him reading a baby book, though he claimed it was Mrs Hudson's. It warmed her heart to see him trying, to see him do little things for her that he never would have bothered with before, like bringing her glasses of water at random or insisting that she sit down, or making sure that she had eaten something if they were in the middle of a case. He made it hard for her to remember sometimes that they weren't together, technically, but she was still figuring things out for herself right now. She wasn't going to rush it.

"Hey, Holmes," she greeted him brightly, absently straightening her blazer, which flapped around the slight bulge of her stomach. She could still see her toes, so she wasn't huge, yet, but she was approaching it, in her eyes. She walked through the door into the living room and cast a glance around the room, "Interesting pair of clients you had back there..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Idiots," he swung the door shut firmly, and she smirked at him, moving to take a seat in John's old armchair. He eyed her briefly, "Tea?"

"Please," she nodded happily, watching him with a gentle smile as he moved to head into the kitchen to prepare it. She slipped her handbag from off her shoulder and sat it on the ground by the chair, only to curse as the bag fell sideways and a couple of spare lipsticks she had brought with her spilled out onto the floor, just beneath the legs of the little side table.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked as he seemed to just appear back in the room, frowning deeply in concern and looking slightly alarmed, eyes fixing on her sharply.

"Easy," she glanced over her shoulder to him, amused at his concern, "My handbag just fell open and I mustn't have clasped it properly..."

He gave her a flat look, as if to say 'Seriously?' She shrugged lightly and simply gave him an innocent look, before moving to lean down to pick up the fallen lipstick, only for Sherlock to suddenly duck down and move to start gathering them up, his curly head bent. She blinked, her hand still poised to reach down, but she stopped and straightened up to watch him, smiling softly to herself. He grabbed her bag to stuff one of the lipsticks inside it, still searching the ground for any more...

"I think the other one might have slipped behind the chair," she told him, figuring she might as well try and be helpful, since he was trying to be helpful to her. Sherlock glanced at her with a slightly narrowed eyed look, as if trying to determine if she was just teasing him, before he sighed and rose, moving to peer behind the chair. A moment past and she lifted an eyebrow, turning her head slightly to see him suddenly frozen on the spot, looking down at something on the floor, "Did you find it?"

"Hmm...what?" he murmured absently.

She frowned slightly, sensing that something was off. She braced her hands on each armrest and pulled herself onto her own feet, moving to round the chair to see him, just in time to watch as he bent down to pick up a slip of paper from the floor, eyes transfixed on it with an intent, almost shocked look. She eyed him and the note closely.

"Sherlock?" she asked softly, "What is that?"

"Proof," he breathed, suddenly dropping the handbag, which spilled the rest of the contents all across the floor...

"Hey!"Amelia exclaimed in slight outrage as her compact hit the floor and cracked, shattering the mirror inside and destroying the practically new pressed powder held within.

He didn't seem to notice, turning sharply on his heel and pushing gently passed her to rush into the kitchen. Amelia, confused and alarmed, turned to follow him, finding him holding the note up towards the bright light above the kitchen table, staring at it intently. There was something written across it, but she couldn't get a close enough look as he turned the paper this way and that way, his eyes widening in slight wonder.

"She was real," he murmured, his eyes snapping up from the paper.

"Who was?" Amelia shook her head, frowning at him, "Sherlock, what the hell...?"

"The woman who visited me, Amelia!" he whirled around to face her, then, waving the note around sharply, eyes wide and full of excitement. She could only stare at him, "Faith!" he almost shouted, making her blink, her lips parting as it hit her just what he was referring to.

"But...it wasn't Faith, was it?" she said slowly, licking her lips, feeling her own heart rate start to raise with excitement and trepidation.

His eyes shifted off her, "No, it wasn't," he agreed, and whirled away from her again.

Amelia swallowed and watched him as he dashed from kitchen drawer to drawer, searching for something, slamming each drawer shut sharply as he looked frantically. She would have helped him, but she felt as if she would only get in his way, and then he seemed to pause as he found the right drawer, rummaging around inside the random bits and pieces stored inside it, before he found the small UV torch that they kept for some of their cases. He moved to switch off the kitchen lights and then came back to stand next to Amelia, much to her surprise, and held the note up high above them. He turned on the UV light and aimed it at the paper. Amelia gasped, her hand falling onto her stomach and the air caught in her throat as the message was revealed to them both:

'Miss Me?'

So, thing's are still pretty up in the air between Sherlock and Amelia, but hey, at least things are still good between them, and John and Sherlock are good. As the chapter says, work in progress, people. Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr and Pinterest. Tell me what you thought, please review :)